Alan Wake: A Psychological Thriller Novel
by UltraAgnostic
Summary: Yep, you guessed it, a novelisation of Alan Wake - to the best of my abilities :P
1. Nightmare

**Alan Wake!**

**Chapter 1 – NIGHTMARE**

**Disclaimer:...i don't own any of Alan Wake?**

Stephen King once wrote that "Nightmares exist outside of logic, and there's little fun to be had in explanations; they're antithetical to the poetry of fear." In a horror story, the victim keeps asking why - but there can be no explanation, and there shouldn't be one. The unanswered mystery is what stays with us the longest, and it's what we'll remember in the end.

My name is Alan Wake. I'm a writer.

XXXXXXXX

For several weeks now, I've been having a particularly unsettling recurring nightmare. I've always had a vivid imagination, but this dream unsettled me. It was wild and dark and weird, even by my standards. So yes - it began with a dream.

Following your typical nightmare pattern, I was late, desperately trying to reach my destination – a lighthouse – for some urgent reason I couldn't remember. I'd been driving way too fast down a coastal road in the dead of night to get there. As I sped out of a tunnel, gripped by a sense of cold determination, I had a split second to see a hitchhiker standing on the road in front of me. Alarm bells exploded in my head as I slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. There was an almighty _CRUMP _as the car struck the doomed man, sending him flying through the air before he landed hard further down the road – unmistakeably and terrifyingly still.

Breathing in short gasps of primal fear, I all but leapt out of the car and rushed to the hitchhiker's body. Falling to one knee, I desperately checked his pulse, but this only confirmed what I already knew – he was dead. Heart pounding in my chest and racked by terrible guilt at what I'd done, I looked down at my victim's body. I was convinced the authorities would put me in jail, and I would never see Alice again.

My thoughts were interrupted as behind me, the car's headlights suddenly switched off, plunging me into near-total darkness – my only light source the pale luminescence of the moon, drifting high above. However as I turned back to the hitchhiker my heart leapt into my mouth and I frantically scrambled backwards, managing to use the front of the car to pull myself to my feet. The body was gone.

I realised that I was in shock from the crash – I could hardly stay on my feet. Above me, a street lamp suddenly turned itself on in much the same way as the car's headlights had turned off, bathing me in cold artificial light which formed a welcome contrast with the darkness of the night. After gathering my senses, I inspected the car to find steam hissing out from beneath the hood. I realised that the radiator had broken when I hit the hitchhiker, and that the car wasn't going anywhere. With no other choice, I set off on foot along the empty road towards the lighthouse, poised atop a cliff overlooking the ocean far below – the lone bastion of light in the distance. I knew there was something important waiting for me there – only I didn't know what that 'something' was.

A little way down the road, I neared a bridge spanning a river below, which I hoped led to the lighthouse. But as I drew closer I saw that it had collapsed. I say collapsed – it looked as though something had torn a hole out of it, which to me looked eerily like a gaping mouth, eager to lure me to my death. Stowing such thoughts firmly in the back of mind, I spotted a nearby wooden walkway which seemed to lead down to the lighthouse as well, and set off along it. A sign at the beginning of the walkway announced that I was on a hiking trail in Rain Cove Point, which may as well have been Oz for all I knew of it – if the place even existed in the real world. As I passed under a street light, about to descend a flight of stairs, I heard a faint noise coming from where I had left the car, and turned to look. I immediately froze, rooted in fear by what I saw by the vehicle – the hitchhiker had returned, and he was very much alive.

In the time it took me to blink, the man was suddenly right in front of me, sending me reeling back in terror and shock. With the hitchhiker only a few feet away from me, I saw that there was something very wrong about him. He was wrapped in shadows, which seemed to cover his entire body, obscuring his face to the point where he was unrecognisable. Even more chilling, I noticed that he held a weathered wood axe in his hands, across his waist.

The hitchhiker suddenly spoke, the maliciousness in his voice almost unsurprising considering his appearance. Shadows billowed around him as a light wind swept around us. "You don't even recognise me, do you, writer?" he asked. I could sense the maddening hate-filled grin on his face as he spoke. "You think you're God?"

All sense of delight in the hitchhiker's voice disappeared as he lifted the axe, continuing to rant as he swung it back and forth, tearing great chunks from the walkway's wooden handrails as he did so. I backed away in horror as the hitchhiker slowly advanced towards me, still swinging his axe wildly. "You think you can just make up stuff? Play with people's lives and kill them when you think it adds to the drama? _You're_ in this story now, and I'LL MAKE _YOU_ SUFFER!"

Those last few words were delivered in an inhuman roar. The axe's blade narrowly missed me as I stepped backwards, stopped from moving any further in that direction by the guardrail as the walkway turned to a collapsed set of stairs. The axe continued into the nearby street light, cutting its power and sending a shower of sparks down from the broken light. I ducked away from them as I rushed along the walkway, leaping across some broken stairs to the lower walkway a few feet below in an attempt to escape my attacker. Panting for breath, I realised that the hitchhiker's attacks, physical and verbal, had stopped, and I turned to look. My would-be murderer stood at the top of the stairs, watching me with invisible eyes. "You're a joke," he spat at me. "There wouldn't be a single readable sentence in one of your books if it wasn't for your editor. You'll never publish another one of your shitty stories, 'cause I'm going to kill you!"

Making sure that the hitchhiker – or whatever he now was – remained at the top of the stairs, I hurried down the walkway, now even more determined to reach the lighthouse. Behind me, my attacker called after me, his voice now constantly shifting between that of a human being and something much deeper and dark: "It's not like your stories are any good - not like they have any artistic merit! You're a lousy writer. Cheap thrills and pretentious shit! That's all you're good for! Just look at me! Look at your work!"

Wanting to do anything but, I continued along the walkway as fast as I could, the wind now picking up considerably. A sawhorse had been put across the path further down, but I would not be stopped. I clambered over it and into a small clearing doubling as a viewpoint, overlooking the lighthouse. I paused a moment to catch my breath - when a horribly familiar voice yelled out from right behind me: "YOU MISSED YOUR DEADLINE!"

The hitchhiker had seemingly returned out of thin air, just like he did by the road. But I had no time to think of this: I instinctively threw myself to the ground and felt something whistle by the back of my head. Rolling over, I saw that I'd narrowly avoided being decapitated by the shadowy figure, who quickly raised his axe high above his head for another blow. Terrified, I rolled to the side as the axe swung down where I had been a moment before, embedding itself in the soft ground with a muffled _THUNK_. As the hitchhiker pulled his weapon free, I desperately looked around for a way to escape and spotted a small gate across the clearing. Running for my life, I frantically pulled at the gate to find it locked shut. Before I could even think of climbing it as well my attacker was back on me again, roaring "YOU CAN'T STOP ME!" I turned just in time to duck under another intended blow to the face from the axe, undoubtedly losing a few hairs in the process as I staggered forward from the momentum. The air catching in my lungs from the exertion, I spun round to face my opponent again – only to find that he had vanished. As I bent over, hands on my knees to try and regain my breath, I was struck with a sudden realisation – the hitchhiker was a character from a story I had been working on. However thanks to the dream, I had no idea what story I was thinking of.

After I felt I'd recovered enough, I moved back to the gate, which in a fashion that now all but unsurprised me, opened itself. I proceeded through it without a second thought, across a small wooden bridge above the river flowing through the gorge below to reach the other side. Then the hitchhiker returned.

I sensed his presence and turned to find him standing on the side of the bridge I had just come from. "How does it feel to die by the hand of your own creation?" he called out menacingly. Without warning, he suddenly and instantaneously disappeared again, consumed by a tornado seemingly composed of pure darkness in his place. The wind whipped up violently around me as the maelstrom sucked up parts of the walkway I had used. Eager to avoid this new form of death, I turned and fled for my life down the hill. As I did so I felt the tornado in hot pursuit, as the noise drew closer even as I fled from it. At the same time it seemed to emit an awful sound, somewhere between a scream and a wail of utter agony.

Overhanging lights shattered as I rushed down the dirt path, incomprehensibly but unquestionably an effect of the shrieking shadow storm. The ground shook as I reached a long rope bridge crossing over another part of the gorge. I was about to set off across it when I suddenly spotted someone waiting at the other side, undoubtedly another shadow person. Even as I thought this I realised that I was wrong, as even from my far-off position I saw that the man was not engulfed in shadows. As if on cue, the stranger spotted me and called out: "This way! This way!"

With such shouting the only impetus I required, I sprinted across the bridge as best I could as it swung alarmingly in the fierce winds. I managed to stumble across to the other side just as the bridge could take no more, and promptly collapsed. Remembering my new friend, I turned to face the stranger, a balding man a few years older than me somewhere in his mid- to late-thirties and wearing a green and yellow football jacket. I was also sure to take in the revolver in his left hand.

"Mr. Wake, it's me, Clay Steward, remember?" the man said, the fear in his voice unmistakeable. For the life of me, I had no idea who Clay was. However Clay quickly interrupted my attempts at remembering, shouting out orders over the din of the wind and the tornado and pointing to a nearby cabin: "Quickly, get inside! There's no time to lose!"

With the tornado crossing the gorge, I had no intention of arguing, and rushed towards the cabin's open door with Clay right behind me. I hurried into the comforting light of the building's interior – but the door slammed shut behind me, keeping Clay outside. Both of us frantically wrestled with the door to try and open it, but it inexplicably would not move. Moments later though, I was diverted from the struggle as the winds and tornado died simultaneously. Moving to a nearby window, I looked out to see that the tornado had returned to the form of the hitchhiker, still wielding his axe and now standing by the former bridge, from where he quickly headed towards Clay.

Clay must have noticed him too, as I heard him utter a terrified "Oh no!" from the other side of the door. Sure enough, my saviour descended the cabin's porch steps and fired at the advancing evil, calling out for it to stop with no success. Amazingly, the revolver's bullets did seemingly no damage to the hitchhiker as it continued advancing unhindered. In sheer desperation, Clay unloaded the rest of the pistol's cylinder into his enemy, crying out "Die, dammit, die!" before suddenly running out of bullets as the hitchhiker swung his axe. "No! No! Aaahhh!" cried Clay in sheer terror – before his cries were suddenly silenced. I watched in horror as the hitchhiker extricated his axe from the top of Clay's head, allowing the latter's body to tumble to the ground before bringing the axe down into him again. No sooner had he done this that the attacker suddenly looked up, straight at me, causing me to almost literally jump in fear. I was trapped. There was no way out.

Around me, several seemingly discarded mini TV sets suddenly activated, showing terrifying images of eyes rotating madly in their sockets. At the same time, a mad chant began, seeming to emanate from all around me: "Die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die..." Spotting a side door, I hurried across to it in a bid to escape, only to find it immovable as well. All of a sudden, as I stood rooted in fear, an insane cackling filled my eardrums, and something huge swung itself against the house, throwing me across the room and into the far wall, hard. No sooner had I picked myself up that it happened again, and again. Each time I was flung around the room, impacting the walls hard enough to break bones. The cabin was a death trap, but I could see no exit. However no sooner had this thought passed through my mind that the cabin's side door dissolved in a shimmering ray of light, shone from outside, and the cabin stopped shaking. A muffled voice suddenly spoke up, just as loud and omnipresent as the dark beings: "Follow the light."

I did as I was told, limping outside. The light being appeared to me to be in direct contrast to the darkness. Bathed in its own light, it could not be seen, but only radiated its brilliance from a spot in the sky. As I watched, it shone over a deactivated street light nearby, somehow turning it on. "You are hurt," said the voice. "You should go into the light. You are only safe there." Following my instructions, and eager to move out of the darkness after my experiences, I headed into the light. As the voice had suggested, I quickly began to feel better, the pain from my many bruises sustained in the attack on the cabin dissipating.

As if sensing my recovery, the Light deactivated the street light, and congratulated me on obeying his instructions correctly. "I have something important to tell you," the muffled voice continued. "It goes like this: "For he did not know, that beyond the lake he calls home, lays a deeper, darker ocean green, where waves are both wilder and more serene. To its ports I've been. To its ports I've _been_." Do you understand?"

"...No!" I replied after a moment's thought, honestly confused and somewhat frustrated.

"Follow my light," said the voice. I watched in wonder as the Light shone on broken pieces of a nearby flight of stairs, repairing them in a matter of seconds. As I descended them, following the Light into another clearing – now so close to the Lighthouse – its voice spoke again. "I entered your dream to teach you. The darkness is dangerous. It's sleeping now. When it feels you coming, it will wake up. There's no time – I can only show you the most important thing."

Growing even more confused by such cryptic conversations, I reached the centre of the clearing where the light was shining to see the hitchhiker suddenly rematerialising directly in front of me. I instantly moved to run – and then noticed that he was unmoving, not even looking at me.

"The hitchhiker has been taken over by the Dark Presence," the voice explained. "You can't hurt him now. The darkness protects him from all harm."

The Dark Presence. It sounded like something I could have come up with, given time. And the voice's words about protection rang true with me, as I remembered Clay's death minutes before at the hands of the seemingly invincible hitchhiker.

"Only light can drive the darkness away and make him vulnerable again." I turned as the Light illuminated a tree stump nearby. "Here, take the light," the voice said. As I watched, a flashlight descended in the ray of light to rest on the stump. I quickly snatched it up, thumbing the switch and arming myself with what I saw as my personal defensive weapon.

"Now, turn the light on him and burn the darkness away." I did as the voice said somewhat gingerly, still unsure of the power of a beam of light against such a powerful foe. However my suspicions were proven unnecessary - as I looked on in surprise and something close to amazement, the shadows around the hitchhiker cried out much like the tornado had, and light refracted off in thick beads. The more I increased the focus of the beam, the more the shadow's cries intensified, until finally they exploded in a burst of light, leaving the hitchhiker looking identical to the man I had apparently killed with my car earlier that night.

"You did it," the voice said, sounding both relieved and satisfied. "Now the darkness no longer protects him. But it's still inside him, controlling him. He can't be saved. He is still a threat, he is _still your enemy_. Here, take the gun."

This startled me out of my wondrous stupor. I looked around to find that the Light had delivered me a revolver similar to Clay's, lain on the tree stump. In somewhat of a daze, I picked up the firearm, feeling its weight in my hand. Despite the hitchhiker being under the control of the 'Dark Presence', part of me objected to the idea of killing him. However this quickly changed as he advanced on me, axe held high and exclaiming "Now you'll die!"

In my time as a crime writer, I had had practice on a firing range to better understand the power of guns and their properties, and picked up a little experience shooting as well. I put this experience to good use now, taking a brief moment to aim down the revolver's barrel before firing. The recoil and almighty noise as the gun fired still surprised me, but I managed to shoot my assailant twice, upon which he exploded in a shower of light, leaving no trace of his body.

The Light was apparently pleased by my work. "Good," it said. "You've done well. Remember what I've taught you. That is all. I will give you back your dream now." And with that, the Light flew off, disappearing.

My encounter with it had awakened memories concerning the rest of my dream, which was taking a decidedly confusing turn. In the nightmare, a terrible darkness was taking over the world. The lighthouse was the last safe place on earth. I was now closer to the building that I had been yet in the nightmare, only separated from it by a winding dirt path and a final wooden road bridge.

I hardly even noticed as the gate on the other side of the clearing opened itself to let me through, and I proceeded along the path. All of a sudden, more axe-wielding hitchhikers, 'taken' by the Dark Presence emerged from the bushes alongside me. Acting quickly and remembering what the Light had told me, I fell back, focusing my flashlight in order to eliminate the shadows surrounding my opponents. With their defences destroyed, I quickly gunned them down as fast I could before they could attack me.

Moving on, I walked into the now comforting beam of a functioning street light, with an emergency box attacked to its body. Opening it, I came across a flare gun and a few rounds of ammunition – perfect for combating the Dark Presence. After stopping for a moment, I headed back off along the path and into the darkness – where more Taken attacked. Fear knotted in my stomach as they emerged from the bushes on either side of the path and converged in total silence, advancing towards me. Steeling myself – and having never fired a flare gun before – I took aim as best I could with one hand, and fired. While the recoil from the shot sent my right hand flying backwards, staggering me along with it, the flare flew through the air, impacting the Taken in the centre of the advancing group square in the chest. The resulting explosion of light startled even me, and instantly wiped out the entire group, much to my relief.

With my enemies defeated, I followed the path around to a nearby road and found myself directly across from the lighthouse, separated from me by a wide wooden road bridge spanning another nightmarish and seemingly bottomless drop. But I should have known I wouldn't cross the bridge unhindered. A familiar voice cried out somewhere in the darkness: "I CAN KEEP THIS UP FOREVER!" As the winds picked up and unearthly noises emanated nearby, I turned to see that the tornado had returned further up the road, now sucking cars, industrial equipment and other dangers into its deadly orbit. Readying myself, I took careful aim and fired another flare straight into it.

It kept on coming. I imagined horror dawned on my face as I realised that this enemy could not be stopped. Hurriedly, I turned and fled full pelt across the bridge, the tornado hot on my tail. The tornado screamed in what sounded like rage as I ran, but any thoughts of its intelligence were cut short as it sent a car hurtling at me. I instinctively ducked and was terrified to feel it fly over my head, before it crashed through the bridge, taking a huge chunk out of it. I quickly changed course to avoid it and continued fleeing, as the tornado threw more vehicles at me, narrowly missing me and destroying much of the bridge instead.

After what seemed like an eternity, my legs failing and my lungs burning, I reached the other side of the bridge and quickly used the last of my stamina to run into the lighthouse, where light flooded from its open door – which I promptly closed tight. As the tornado approached outside, I all but closed my eyes and prayed to survive. Amazingly, the seemingly-normal lighthouse door held fast, and the tornado moved off, filling the area with silence in its wake.

With the Dark Presence seemingly gone, I headed through the old stone building to the base of the tower, eager to meet fellow survivors. As I entered, I stood for a moment, marvelling at the brilliance of the light that had protected me shining down through the many holes in the tower's spiral staircase. However, my marvel was short-lived. The light suddenly cut out.

The fear I thought I had left outside returned with alarming speed, filling me in a matter of moments. Panicking, I looked around for any sign of movement – and heard something coming down from the top of tower. Looking up, I came face-to-face with the descending horror. At the same time I distinctly remember hearing the chilling voice of an old woman, no more than a whisper but somehow equally as terrifying as my fate, uttering, "_he's here_." As the thing from the top of the lighthouse launched itself at me, I opened my mouth to scream in sheer terror, but before I could so much as draw in breath, another soothing voice whispered in my ear, right beside me.

"Alan. Wake up."


	2. Welcome To Bright Falls

**Alan Wake!**

**Chapter 2 – WELCOME TO BRIGHT FALLS**

**Disclaimer:...i don't own any of Alan Wake?**

I woke with a cry of fear as the unspeakable creature reached me, but already all recollection of the nightmare was fading away, as though someone had flapped the metaphorical tablecloth in my mind and sent it flying with the dust. Alice was talking to me from the passenger seat, comforting me.

"Shhhh, baby, just another nightmare," she told me, in that wonderfully soothing voice I had come to know so well. "Everything's fine. You dozed off."

I was in no mood to look at the positives. The nightmare had left me feeling scared and confused - maybe even a little powerless. "Right," I sighed in reply. "Anything more than 'dozed off' would be news for everyone."

Alice was unfazed, and smiled back at me. "Cheer up, handsome," she laughed, nodding her head slightly to gesture through the car's windscreen. "We're here!"

As Alice exited the car, I took a moment to allow reality to properly reassert itself. I was sitting in my car. I was on a small ferry, along with a few other vehicles and their owners. And, as Alice had said, we had basically arrived at our destination – the town of Bright Falls, Washington state. The trip had been entirely Alice's idea – only she could have found such a seemingly remote little community – but I wasn't complaining. For the past two years I had been taking out my frustration – never physically, God no - at my current state both on myself and on Alice, and our relationship had suffered as a result. Time had only ensured that the wounds stayed open, not healed them. I felt that this holiday was a brilliant way to get away from New York, to put the past behind us and start a new chapter.

Mind cleared and feeling better already, I opened my door and stepped out of the car as well, next to the handrail separating me from the water. I took a moment to close my eyes and let my lungs fill with the fresh air, drifting down from the surrounding mountains which seemed to stretch on forever throughout the state. _Definitely _healthier than the air back home. As I eased my eyelids back open I couldn't help but smile at the landscape around me. On every side, the horizon was blocked by the almost never-ending hills and mountains which brought so many tourists to the state for their vacations, either to simply marvel at or, for the younger adventurers, to climb. I guessed that heading up the mountains off the beaten path was probably a bad idea though – almost all of them were steep and blanketed from head to toe in your usual coniferous trees: pines, spruces, and undoubtedly some redwoods as well. Who knows, I thought - by the time we're heading home, I'll have probably climbed some. The mountains, that is. My tree-climbing days are well and truly behind me.

The smell of sap was rich in my nostrils as above me I heard the tell-tale sound of a train rumbling its way along tracks. I looked up to see a railway bridge spanning the water as the ferry passed underneath it, entering the bay reaching out from Bright Falls. I just had time to catch WELCOME TO BRIGHT FALLS stamped on the side of the bridge in bold white iron lettering. Sure enough, up ahead I spotted the town easing into view. From what I could see, most of the larger buildings were lined up along the waterfront, and no doubt made up the heart of the community, while straining my eyes let me see houses stretching back further up the slopes of the hill Bright Falls was built on. I thought it didn't look like such a bad place to visit – and better still, how isolated it looked gave me hope that I could stay there in peace, without being recognised.

My thoughts were pleasantly interrupted when I heard Alice call my name, and I walked round to where she stood waiting for me by the back of the car, camera in hand. "Let's acts like we're on vacation," she quipped sarcastically – well aware that I didn't buy into the usual 'happy families' crap. I couldn't suppress a smirk.

"Go stand next to that old gentleman over there," she added, gesturing to an old man resting on the railings at the front of the ferry. "I want a shot of you with the town in the background."

I couldn't help but retort. "Sure," I grinned, "I'll even give you a title for the shot: 'A city boy, moments before he got eaten by a bear.'"

She smiled at me at that, and I loved it – loved her, more so every day. Alice and I had been married for years now, and she worked as a professional photographer – the camera she was using didn't come cheap. As a result, she worked closely with me in my own career as a bestselling crime writer. It had been her shots that I had used for my pictures in the Alex Casey novels, and her art skills that she used to design the books' artwork. Thinking about Alex Casey quickly brought on a wave of nostalgia for me – It seemed like an eternity since I had finally killed off the hard-boiled New York detective, ending a series which had brought me international fame and enough money to last a lifetime, but in reality it had only been two years. It had only been two years since the trouble started.

Shaking the memories out of my head before they could fully form, I walked over to where the old man stood. As I watched, a seaplane flew in low over the bay and landed by Bright Falls, taxiing towards a pier along the waterfront. Spotting movement out of the corner of my eye, I turned to see that my new friend had noticed me, so I extended a customary "hi" in greeting. On closer inspection, I could see that the guy was somewhere in his late sixties, and (unfortunately for him) balding. Regardless, he greeted me with what I felt was a genuinely heartfelt smile. Old people were better at 'heartfelt' than the rest of us.

"Hello there!" he beamed, adjusting his thick horn-rimmed glasses as he spoke. I was surprised by how clear his voice was, considering his age. "You've picked a good time to visit our town – Deerfest is only two weeks away!"

I managed to smother the smirk that time. To me, Deerfest sounded like the ultimate in stereotypical country festivals – awards for the biggest deer shot, guns fired into the air, and so on. Hell, maybe the townsfolk would even celebrate with some moonshine.

I couldn't stop from speaking, though. "Deerfest, huh?" I replied, trying to sound amazed. I turned to Alice, already snapping away at us with her camera. "Did you hear that, honey?" Alice didn't reply – photography was seemingly ingrained in her, and as such she had on her usual expression of deep concentration as she took the photos.

The old man seemed to believe my attempt at sincerity, as after following my line of sight to Alice he continued on. "You have a beautiful wife, if you don't mind me saying so," he said conversationally. "I'm Pat Maine, by the way. Nice to meet you." He extended a hand, which I promptly shook.

"Yeah," I replied, adding somewhat reluctantly "...I'm Alan Wake."

At this point a smile came across Maine's face that I recognised with an inward sigh – the smile of a fan.

"I won't pretend I don't know a famous writer such as yourself, Mr. Wake," he said, still smiling – and putting a slight emphasis on the _famous_. "A pleasure. I'm an avid reader myself." Please God, I thought, don't let him be one of _those_ fans. He's an old man.

"I hope this isn't too...presumptuous of me," Maine continued, "but I'm the night host at the local radio station. Any chance I could get an interview?"

I took this opportunity to sigh aloud, which I thought sounded quite apologetic. Don't get the wrong idea – I _was _actually somewhat apologetic, but some of what I was feeling was anger as well. Anger that there was seemingly nowhere I could go on the planet without being asked for an autograph or an interview.

"Look, Mr. Maine," I replied, "I'm on vacation. In fact, I'd appreciate it if we could keep my being here just between the two of us. I'm sure you understand," I added, as an afterthought.

Maine seemed to accept my explanation. "Fair enough," he answered, with another good-natured smile to show that there were no hard feelings. "You can trust me to be discreet. I'm not a hard man to track down if you change your mind, though. I hope you two have a lovely holiday."

Seeing that Alice had finished taking pictures, I smiled back at Maine in genuine gratitude before heading back over to my wife, who was examining the photos she had taken on her camera on its viewscreen.

"Very nice," she said. "I got a couple of really good ones. And I see you made a friend. That's cute," she added, teasing me.

"Riiight," I replied. Before I could come up with a witty retort, my cell phone rang. I took it out of my pocket and flipped it open.

"Hey bestseller!" the loud voice on the other side of the line cried – a voice I instantly recognised. Barry Wheeler had been my friend since we were both kids, and he had become my agent for my entire career. Some would call him a loudmouth, and others would probably call him neurotic. I'd say he was a bit of both. Despite his faults, Barry had proven time and time again that he was a great agent, and had helped me out of trouble with the media and others on more than one occasion. However, he _could_ be a bit over-protective.

"How's my favourite writer?" he continued. "Are you there yet?"

Feeling that this call might last longer than simple hellos, I walked over towards the side of the ferry as we neared Bright Falls, to avoid holding a conversation in Alice's face. "Barry," I answered. "Yeah, we just got here."

As soon as I finished speaking, he was on me. "Are the locals giving you trouble? Just say the word, and I'll hop on a plane and come make sure that you're left alone, Al."

"No, Barry, we're fine," I replied, my voice sounding not unlike the monotone of a schoolkid and all but rolling my eyes.

"Great, greaaat," Barry said. "Just want to make sure that you can relax and recharge. So how is the place? Has it gotten your creative juices flowing?"

"Barry, we're just settling in." I sounded a bit more authoritative that time round.

"Okay Al," Barry replied casually. "I'll call back later to make sure you're doing okay. And _you_ call _me_ if there's a problem, _okay_? Okay! I'm just looking out for you, buddy. Talk to you later!"

I smiled. "I love you too, Barry," I replied sarcastically, and hung up.

"You know he's going to be calling you every five minutes?" Alice said from behind me. I turned to face her. For whatever reason, she and Barry had never been able to get along with each other.

"Barry is Barry," I shrugged. "I can always turn off the phone."

No sooner were the words out of my mouth that my phone beeped. Alice smiled. "What did I tell you?" she said. I flipped the phone back open.

"A text message from Barry," I explained to her. "He says hi to you too."

She smiled at this too – something I couldn't quite get enough of – just as the ferry arrived at the pier in Bright Falls. In the course of my conversations with Maine and Barry, I had completely missed our travel across the bay. Alice noticed our arrival as well, and told me so.

"Alan, we're here," she pointed out. "Come on, let's get back in the car." The excitement in her body language caused by our arrival was easy to see, and it made me fall in love with her all over again.

Alice headed for the car and climbed back inside. Before I followed, I turned to look back down the ferry, across the bay we had just crossed. I took in the rail bridge at the bay's mouth, and the forested mountains lining the sides, standing out against the cloud-specked sky. However as I moved to turn back something caught my eye – a man in his forties, resting along the handrail at the back of the ferry. He was quick to turn back to gazing nonchalantly out over the bay as I had done, but I could have sworn that he had been watching me and Alice. There was, of course, nothing wrong with looking at people, but for some reason something about the man made me feel uneasy.

Then I turned and entered the car, and moments later Alice and I were in Bright Falls.

XXXXXXXX

As Alice drove us down Bright Falls' main street, I looked out at our surroundings. The main street itself was perfectly straight, with the waterfront and various buildings on one side and the rest of the town on the other. A few people passed on the sidewalk, with most stopping to wave at others across the road. Here the smell of sap mingled with that of fresh flowers and faintly what I thought was trout and salmon coming from a nearby fishery. As I watched, a float built over the back of a flatbed truck passed down the street heading in the opposite direction, one I thought would take centre stage in the Deerfest celebration Maine had mentioned – a huge metal deer took up the entire float.

"We need to stop at the local diner to get the cabin key from the landlord," Alice said from beside me, "A Mr. Carl Stucky. He's waiting for us." This reminded me that we were renting a cabin somewhere south of the town, across the sound which Alice had told me cut the considerable landscape around Bright Falls in two. As I remembered this piece of information, a wave of content washed over me. The feeling of starting anew returned.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted large red lettering fixed atop the overhang of a building across the street, on the left, and turned to see it spell OH DEER DINER. We had arrived, then. As if to confirm this Alice drove across to the diner and parked up on the sidewalk outside, engine idling.

"I'll go fill her up while you get the key," Alice told me. "I'll pick you up here in...five minutes?"

"Sure," I answered, and climbed out of the car. Before I could move around to the kerb Alice called my name again and I bent down to hear her, careful to make sure I was off of the road as much as possible.

"Thank you for coming here with me," Alice said – in a quiet voice, truly grateful for my company. For a brief moment I felt pointedly sad at her having to treat such an act as a special occasion, and angry at myself for making things this way. My contentedness left me then, and my smile faltered. But I quickly regained face. This was no place for more sorrow.

"I love you too," I smiled back at her. "Go on – I promise to behave," I added, helpless to stop a mischievous grin from accompanying it. Alice smiled back, undoubtedly happy at seeing me in such a good mood for the first time in...it had been too long. I sighed openly as Alice drove away down the street and my subconscious battled with these memories. Taking a deep breath, I entered the diner.

XXXXXXXX

I'd forgotten there were places like this – towns where everybody knew everybody. Looking around, a 'city boy' such as myself could see the difference purely in the way people sat. Whereas back in New York (and, I'm betting, every major city in America) customers at a Starbucks or any kind of coffee bar would guard their privacy desperately, almost jealously, here everyone talked to each other without a second thought.

As the door bell tinkled above my head, I looked around. The diner was considerably spacious compared to the hundreds of tiny businesses in New York. Booths lined the walls, their seats clad in red leather. A huge Deerfest poster, showing an expressionless young deer against an elysian Washington countryside background, took up most of the left wall, while the right was all windows looking onto a road leading up further into Bright Falls. A counter in the rear of the diner on the left showed through into the kitchen, while the main counter (_in that shape I can never name_, I thought for a moment through metaphysically gritted teeth – _the rectangle with curved corners_) took up the centre of the room.

Standing by the door, I looked around for Carl Stucky. From what I could tell, it must have been a slow day, because there were only three customers. A Park Ranger, judging from the green jacket he wore and wide-brimmed hat resting on the stool beside him, sat by the bar near the door, talking with the sole uniformed waitress, who looked in her early twenties and wore a red dress and a small waitress hat. Close to the kitchen service window in the back, what looked like two old leather-clad bikers sat talking with each other in a booth. None of these people seemed to cry out 'landlord' to me, so I started for the waitress to ask about him – and stopped.

Standing by the door, on my left – so close that I was surprised I hadn't seen it – was a cardboard cut-out of me. Unlike the normal me, this cut-out was sharply-suited and looked mysterious in an attractive kind of way, with a hint of something sinister hiding in his eyes. In his right hand he clutched a book to his chest, where on the cover, a hand reached out for a fallen gun in a growing pool of blood. At his feet, descending outwards towards the floor, were the words ALAN WAKE – THE SUDDEN STOP – THE INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER. _Great_, I thought, _just great_. _So much for a quiet holiday_.

Reluctantly gathering myself, I turned to the waitress, who had moved away from the Ranger to greet me. "Welcome to the Oh Deer Diner!" she said cheerfully, the innocent curiosity on her face stemming purely from seeing someone new in town. I hoped.

"Hi, I...was wondering if you could help me," I replied good-naturedly. "I'm looking for -" but the words died on my lips. As I'd spoken a strange look had come over the waitress' face, an all-too-familiar look – one with panic, ecstasy and shock all rolled into one. I cursed inwardly.

She was a serious fan.

"Mr. Wake? Alan Wake?" she asked in amazement, not looking for an answer but speaking purely out of disbelief. I looked around nervously, anticipating what was to come.

"Oh God!" she cried, throwing her hands up to her mouth as if attempting to prevent her tumultuous emotions from blasting out of her. "I am your biggest fan! I know people say that all the time but I _really_ am!"

I quickly decided to stop the waitress before she went on. God knows I'm something of an expert with these people by now. "I'm...glad to hear that...?" I told her, leaving my reply open-ended to learn her name – hey, I still show _some _respect.

The waitress looked at me for a moment, mouth agape and face seemingly frozen in joy, before realising my intentions and hurriedly replying "Rose," delivered with a beaming smile.

"Rose," I affirmed. "I'm looking for Mr. Stucky. Carl Stucky?"

Fortunately by this time Rose had calmed herself somewhat. "Carl?" she asked in genuine surprise, before deeming that answering me was of the utmost importance. "Of course, Mr. Wake. He must have gone to visit the restroom. He'll be back in a moment."

As she spoke, Rose gestured towards a corridor leading further into the building behind her, to the right of the kitchen/main room window. However before I could even think of heading over there, she went on.

"I just can't believe it!" she cried. "I've got _all_ your books. I got the cut-out from the bookstore when they took it out of the window."

I raised my eyebrows instinctively. Despite being somewhat of an expert on crazed fans, they still surprised me from time to time. Passing through Virginia on a book tour for The Sudden Stop, I had encountered a sweaty, overweight, bespectacled little girl in a library where I was signing copies of my books. Having determinedly pushed her way to the front of the gathered crowd of fans to meet me, the girl – Annie, I think she had said – undaunted and salivating ever so slightly, asked me if she could have more of my facial hair, to go with the little she had somehow managed to collect in a tiny air-tight plastic sheath. Needless to say, I politely refused. I don't think I ever want to know how she came by what she already had.

"And you keep it here?" I asked Rose quizzically, glancing back at my double by the door. "Well...okay, good for you."

Rose seemed content with this, subsiding into silence but still beaming at me as if her dreams had suddenly come to life right in front of her. Which, I'm sorry to say for her sake, they probably had. Conversation over, I moved to navigate around the Ranger sitting nearby, who was now examining the local paper with one hand while delivering coffee into his mouth with the other. However doing so caught his attention, and he lowered his coffee to speak.

"Try the coffee," he told me with a cheerful smile. "Just don't blame me when you fall in love, 'cause it'll break your heart when you have to leave."

This statement was evidently some kind of running joke between the Ranger and Rose, as the latter laughed at her customer's words, a grin spreading on her face.

"Rusty here is no longer human," Rose told me, eyes straying from me momentarily to look at Rusty, who smiled back at her as he raised his coffee mug for another drink. "Nothing but black coffee under a thin layer of skin."

This struck me as a strangely macabre choice of metaphor, and I frowned and smiled slightly in surprise. Furthermore, the look in Rusty's eyes when he spoke to Rose told me something that the waitress either didn't know or chose not to. Her attentions were fixed elsewhere.

"Yeah? That makes two of us," I replied politely, and quickly continued on my way before either could start another conversation. All I wanted was to return to Alice and enjoy our time here, anonymity or no anonymity.

However my hopes of bringing a sharp end to my experience in the Oh Deer Diner were dashed as I neared the back of the main room. As I turned towards the corridor Rose had pointed out, another voice, this one much older than the others, spoke up from behind me.

"Do me a favour, sonny," it said, in such a way that I knew the speaker had been a heavy smoker in his earlier years. Maybe he still was. "I could really use a tune right now. 'Coconut' – number six on the jukebox."

Gritting my teeth where no one could see me, I put on a smile and turned to see that the speaker was one of the two old men I had noticed earlier. The one talking to me was definitely the older of the two, with a prominent beer gut, little hair left on his head and an eyepatch over his right eye. His friend, seated across the table on my left, was noticeably younger but still qualified as old in my opinion – he was thinner and retained much of his hair, most notably in the form of a short greying beard, and wore a black bandana. Both were dressed entirely in black – while they wore seemingly identical black t-shirts and jeans, the older one had on a thick leather jacket, while his friend wore what looked like a leather cut-off.

"I'd do it myself, but both of my legs have gone to sleep," The older man said, grinning somewhat shamefacedly. "Bad circulation, yeah."

"Are you serious!" the other man exclaimed, his voice stronger and gnarled. "'Coconut', again! You _disgust_ me. Call yourself a rocker? Unbelievable. Hah!"

Eager to leave the two 'rockers' to their own devices and continue on my way, I decided to oblige the old man of his request and approached the jukebox where it sat in the corner of the main room behind their booth. As instructed, I selected number six on the sparkling blue machine, which I was willing to bet was an original model from the 50s. Inside, the little mechanical arm rose up and grabbed hold of one of the black discs in the back of the jukebox as they stopped rotating into place, and began to pull it back – and then stopped. I froze momentarily, wondering if I had broken this old machine.

The old man was on me quickly. "It does that," he told me casually, "gets stuck, yeah. You need to give it a good, solid whack!"

The way in which he slightly shouted his words made me wonder if perhaps the old man wasn't quite in the right state of mind, but I was committed now. Raising my left hand and praying that I didn't damage an already-broken machine further, I brought my open palm down on the side of the jukebox, hard. Fortunately, the little arm continued on its way, and a moment later the sound of Harry Nilsson plucking away at his guitar and telling us that "she put the lime in the coconut, she drank 'em bot' up" crept out of the little jukebox's speakers.

"That's what I'm talking about! Yes!" the old man exclaimed, beginning to dance vigorously in his seat and sing along to the music.

"This is it," his friend lamented, head bowed, "I've died and gone to hell."

With their attention diverted, I made a beeline for my objective. I was in no mood for any more interruptions, and as such barely noticed the old woman cowering by the doorway leading into the corridor, hurriedly walking past her to avoid any gems of wisdom she might want to share with me, like the others.

Once in the corridor, I found myself in near-total darkness. All of the overhead lights had died save for one at the end, which flickered on and off like the lights you would expect to find in a serial killer's basement in some cheap horror flick. It later struck me as odd that the darkness was so complete – the light from the diner's main room should have illuminated most of the corridor, but as it was, visibility was reduced to almost zero. But the darkness meant nothing to me at the time. I didn't want to wait - I wanted to find Stucky and get the key, to get out as soon as possible. Rose had given me a headache. Overeager fans always did.

As I proceeded, somewhat hesitantly, further into the darkness, another voice behind me called out a warning: "Don't go in there, young man. You can hurt yourself in the dark."

I turned to see the old woman still standing by the doorway. As our eyes met I realised with a frown that she was scared of the darkness in the corridor. But why?

Looking closer, I found my answer. Beneath her worried expression, the woman cradled a large lantern in her arms. Either she was afraid of the dark, or she was just plain mad.

"I think I can handle it, ma'am," I replied, feeling safe enough to smirk at my momentary confusion, knowing that the darkness prevented her from seeing it.

Pushing an old woman's fears aside, I turned and headed back into the dark. With only the flickering light to guide me, I almost walked straight into the wall at the end of the corridor, barely seeing it in time. Looking around, I saw that the corridor continued off to the left and abruptly ended, with the entrances to the different restrooms on the right wall. Just managing to spot the female stick figure on the first door, I continued on to the second, and hesitated. The door was ajar. _Were the restrooms for one person or more than on__e_? Uncertain, I decided to knock first, drumming my knuckles lightly on the wooden door three times.

"Hello?" I called out in the gloom. Typical of a small-town diner not to have any working lights. I leaned close to the door, trying to listen out for the sound of movement.

No answer. "Mr. Stucky?" I tried, rapping the door again. After a few more seconds without a reply, I stepped away from the door, and decided to try my luck and enter.

"Carl couldn't make it," a dry and withered voice said suddenly from my right, and I instinctively jumped backwards in fright away from it. I had a moment to wonder what new obstacle the Oh Deer Diner had thrown in my path before my eyes began to adjust, and I saw what looked like a small woman standing in front of me. Strangely, I could barely make her out even as I began to see the corridor in greater detail. The woman, wearing some kind of long black dress and her face masked with what looked like a veil, was almost shrouded in the darkness, and I could barely see her. Her face might as well have been invisible – all I could see of it was her lips moving as she talked.

"Unfortunately, he was taken ill," the voice continued – sounding not unlike, in my author's mind, a pile of dead leaves in the wind. And awfully familiar from somewhere. "But I have the key for you, and instructions on how to get to the lake."

At this, the woman reached somewhere into the shadows of her dress, and a gnarled hand produced an old iron key and a small folded piece of paper, and held them out towards me.

"O-kay..." I replied, at a loss for words brought on by this eerie and frankly weird woman standing before me. But apparently she knew Stucky, and she was here to fill in for him. I quickly took the key and paper from her hand, careful not to touch her. Pocketing the key in my jacket, I tried to examine the directions she had given me in the near non-existent light.

"I wish you a good stay in my cabin," the woman continued, in her horrible decaying voice. "I'll come by later to check how you've settled in. And to meet your wife."

I looked up at this. _Her_ cabin? Something about her tone of voice was all wrong.

"I _insist_," she added icily. My mouth opened, but no words came out.

"...thanks," I managed to say, looking back at the paper in my hand. Alice had never mentioned anything to me about staying by a lake. Did she know? Despite my questions, I had an intense desire not to speak to Stucky's stand-in any more than I had to, and so with one last look at her ghostly features I placed the directions she had given me with the key in my pocket, and hurried on my way past her and down the corridor.

Calmed by no longer facing the strange acquaintance of Stucky, I eagerly hurried out of the corridor, emerging into the glorious afternoon sunlight streaming in through the diner's windows. The old woman with the lantern was still by the doorway, and looked genuinely relieved to see me return unharmed.

"You got lucky this time, young man! You can hurt yourself in the dark," she told me, echoing what she had said before. Coupled with the fact that she quickly descended into mumbling about lights needing changed to no one in particular, this didn't really surprise me.

Leaving the corridor had imbued with a sudden sense of freedom. Invigorated, I walked back down the diner towards the front door. As I passed the two old 'rockers', I saw that the older one had fallen asleep where he sat, slumped in his seat and head fallen on his chest, snoring loudly. "Even that sounds better than your singing," his friend commented grimly, making me grin widely.

With his hat back on, Rusty looked ready to leave as well, but noticed me smiling at the old men as he was finishing his coffee.

"The Andersons," he told me, presumably referring to the pair, "they're, uh, local musicians. We're waiting for Doctor Hartman to come pick them up. They wandered off from his clinic at the Cauldron Lake Lodge."

I had no idea who Doctor Hartman was or where I could find Cauldron Lake Lodge, and I didn't care in the slightest. With the darkness behind me, the mere possibility of peace and quiet filled me with joy. As if on cue, Alice pulled up on the kerb outside as I headed for the door. Pulling it open, the bell jingled once more above my head as I stepped outside.

"Bye Mr. Wake!" Rose called out from behind me, but the door was already swinging shut. Heading around to the other side of the car with the sun shining down and a smile refusing to leave, I pulled open the passenger door and climbed in, slamming the door shut behind me. Alice sat waiting, still smiling.

"Mission accomplished," I told her, feeling absurdly proud of my achievements. Considering what I had been through, maybe it wasn't so absurd. "The key, and the directions."

"My hero," Alice replied, taunting me. I loved it.

"I got some flashlights just in case," she added. As she spoke she handed me one, a simple silver metal model which I dropped into my lap. The mountainous Washington landscape stretched out before us. A fresh start. _Thank you, Bright Falls_, I thought, grinning, _you_ _and __all of your weird townspeople_.

XXXXXXXX

As Alan drove off with Alice down main street, all thoughts of the shadowy woman in the diner forgotten, neither he nor his wife spotted Carl Stucky, dressed in his baby blue mechanic's overalls, rush out of the diner's front door behind them and stagger to a halt in the middle of the road, barely managing to hold the Wake's keys aloft in an outstretched hand.

"Hey, wait!" Stucky yelled after his departing clients. "Mrs. Wake! Your – your keys!" But it was no use. The two tourists weren't looking back.

As the Wakes drove away, Stucky put his free hand to his head, where a powerful headache was beginning to run rampant. What had happened to him? He had been sitting in the diner, enjoying a mug of coffee and admiring Rose's perfect ass when she wasn't looking. Then he had headed to the restrooms and...what? Blacked out? Maybe he'd been drinking – but then he'd been sober for four years, and that didn't explain where he could have gotten any alcohol from. Had he been drugged?

Feeling increasingly confused, Stucky staggered back towards the diner. In their car, Alan and Alice left Bright Falls behind them and headed off along a route through the mountains that would eventually see them curving south towards their cabin on Cauldron Lake. Both parties were unaware of each other's experiences.

But their trouble had only just begun.


	3. Cauldron Lake

**Chapter 3 – CAULDRON LAKE**

**Disclaimer:...i don't own any of Alan Wake?**

After a quick scan of the directions I had received from Stucky's replacement, I worked out that our cabin - which the old-fashioned lettering of the note named as Bird Leg Cabin - was south across the Ford River, the waterway which cut the county in two. Having gleaned much knowledge from travel brochures before the trip, Alice identified the lake the strange woman in the diner had mentioned as Cauldron Lake, a caldera. Registering the blank look on my face, Alice explained that a caldera is formed when a volcano collapses into itself, forming a 'cauldron' or crater in its place, which in many cases – such as this one – fills with water and becomes a lake. To my relief, she added that the remnants of _this_ particular volcano were long dormant. Following signs out of town, Alice left Bright Falls behind us for the time being as we crossed a long wrought-iron bridge over the river and headed south, following the road as it wound up into the mountains.

I took the time to drink in my surroundings. Heavily wooded hillsides hemmed us in on our left and right for much of the journey. Occasionally, they would fall away to show the mountains the state was famous for - stretching up towards the sky, the peaks of the tallest ones capped with snow. It was awe-inspiring, a far throw from the huge cities of the East Coast. With New York, Bright Falls and – hopefully – any chance of being recognised behind me for the time being, I fell back into my seat with my eyes closed, sighing.

"That diner was a real nuthouse," I told Alice in disbelief, making her laugh. I smiled.

"Can you believe this place?" Alice asked me. The hint of wonder in her voice made it clear that she was just as amazed by the scenery as I was.

"This would make a great setting for a book," she added.

My calm state of mind abruptly derailed itself.

"We're supposed to be on vacation, Alice," I snapped, opening my eyes and staring into the distance before turning to her. "I'll figure it out when we get back home, okay?" There was no mistaking the anger in my voice.

"Okay," Alice whispered, caught off-guard by my outburst. "We can talk about this later."

I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to bury my head in the sand. In a valiant attempt to preserve normalcy, Alice turned on the radio. Tuning itself to the only station in range, the voice of Pat Maine soon emanated from the car's speakers. The DJ was obviously starting his night shift early on 'KBF-FM', but I wasn't listening. Once upon a time, I had been a successful writer, but that was a long time ago. I hadn't been able to write a word in two years - not since my last book. How was I to have known that killing off Alex Casey would kill off my career as well? Irony is a bitter pill, and hard to swallow.

XXXXXXXX

"And now the weather. It's going to be a clear night, so you folks from the big city might want to look up every once in a while, see those stars winking down at you. It gets pretty dark out here, but they'll light your way."

As Maine's weather report ended, smoothly transitioning into Roy Orbison singing about a candy-coloured clown they called The Sandman, Alice turned down a steep single track lane, barely noticeable save for the deep tyre tracks left by vehicles long before us and already in the process of being reclaimed by the earth. The mountains on either side receded and were temporarily lost in the darkness as trees clustered up on either side – a darkness assisted by the declining sun, slowly descending towards the western horizon. Just as I began to wonder whether or not the track would end, it levelled out, and up ahead I could see the end of this small stretch of woods. As we neared the end of the road I saw that the way out was barred by two old, simple swinging metal gates, tied together with a thick length of worn rope. Alice slowed the car to a stop in front of them, engine idling.

"Can you get those for me?" she asked.

"Sure," I answered gloomily. I was still angry at myself for having barked at Alice – again. Alice saw this and smiled at me, telling me that there were no hard feelings. I tried to smile back, but she only reminded me of how often I had behaved like that, taking my frustration at my writer's block out on her – a spiteful comment here, a putdown there. The person I had been – the same person still clinging onto me desperately for survival – sickened me.

Stepping out of the car onto the dried earth of the track, I closed the door behind me and moved around to the front of the car, where the gates met. Up ahead, the trees branched off at right angles, giving access to a clearing perched on the edge of a cliff, from what I could see. Further off, more mountains curved along what was presumably Cauldron Lake.

The rope turned out to be fastened in a simple overhand knot. Undoing it, I pulled the rope out of the beams and held it in one hand while I pushed open the gates, one after the other. I left them resting against old wooden fences separating the clearing from the woods before stepping clear to let Alice through in the car. Moving the gates back into place and tying them together with the rope again, I headed over to where Alice had stopped the car as she killed the engine, cutting Roy off as he cried out that it only happened "IN DREAMS!" and got out. As I approached I heard Alice breathe in sharply at something. Hurrying over to see what was wrong, I saw that she was only taking in the view.

And what a view.

I joined Alice in moving forward to the old fence at the cliff edge, separating us from a drop almost straight down to more land and certain death below. Cauldron Lake stretched out below us, its gentle waters calm and almost unmoving. All around, the lake was ringed by countless huge mountains and hills, their visible slopes strewn with trees. Almost directly below us, little more than a few car lengths from the bottom of the hill, was a small, roughly triangular island, and on it Bird Leg Cabin. It was easy to see where the building got its name from – from above, the island on which it was built looked just like a bird's foot. The end nearest us was the back, and through the few trees spread out on the far side I could just make out little points of land that constituted the toes. The cabin itself, looking like it had been built sometime in the 70s, sat on the western side, on the island's natural incline, while the back and front of the 'bird's foot' sloped gently down towards the water. A thin wooden bridge, built just above water level, stretched between the bottom of the hill and the island itself. The entire ensemble – the tranquil lake, the mountains forming the closest thing to a natural wall around it, and the island itself – were achingly beautiful. And as an added bonus, I noticed with a smile that across the entire lake, there was not a single other person around. Peace at last.

Realising that I was being watched, I turned to find a smiling Alice watching me with satisfaction, and I realised that my mouth was ever so slightly hanging open. All thoughts of my behaviour in the journey to the lake were forgotten as we both laughed and headed back to the car. After Alice retrieved our tiny amount of supplies from the trunk, all shoved into a single red handheld bag, and locked the car behind us, we started off down a path across the clearing which zig-zagged down the cliff face to the bridge. The trees around Cauldron Lake looked to have different ideas about what season it was – while most of them still wore the healthy green of summer foliage, other were caught in the orange and yellow shades of mid-autumn, while still others stood bare and dead.

Eventually Alice and I wound our way down to the bottom of the hill. I had time to take in an old boarded-up well, the kind with no roof, sitting by the hill side – which disturbingly reminded me of the near-identical well from the The Ring – before turning to face the island. From here I could see a spindly old metal chimney snaking its way up the side of the cabin facing us. Two little round windows, almost like portholes, looked down on us from the second floor, one on each side of the chimney. A crude wooden archway stood over the beginning of the bridge, and a wooden board, fixed to the arch by chains, hung just below it to show the name of the island, hand-written in block capitals with white paint – DIVER'S ISLE. Considering the name of the cabin, I guessed that this was another local thing. Alice stood beside me, the bag held in front of her with both hands, looking dreamily at the island and the cabin.

"Wow," she said breathlessly. "It's gorgeous, Alan."

"It's something, all right," was all I could reply with. The look of the place struck even me. As we started across the bridge, I noticed a familiar expression on Alice's face – one of quiet worry.

"Don't worry, honey," I told her reassuringly. "I'll get you inside safe and sound before it gets dark. And I've got the flashlight," I added, tapping the bulge in my jacket pocket.

"I know," Alice told me. "I'm okay." She smiled at me, but I'd have had to be a fool not to notice how apprehensive she was regardless of what she said. Alice had nyctophobia – the fear of darkness. I wanted to make sure we were inside with the lights on before sunset.

As we set foot on Diver's Isle and headed up the gentle slope to the cabin, the path cut back from the undergrowth and marked with old rotting logs on either side, I saw that we weren't really alone – large black crows sat perched on the branches of some of the few trees nearby. I was never really a big fan of crows – their beady eyes, their expressionless faces, always seeming to watch your every move. To add to this strange sense of foreboding, these crows made no noise whatsoever, only sat watching us. So I breathed an internal sigh of relief when they quickly lifted off and flew away at our approach, still gravely silent save for the beating together of their wings.

"Are you sure you read the directions right?" Alice asked from beside me, making me jump. "It's nothing like the brochure – it said near the lake, not on it." Noticing the look of faux bemusement on my face, she quickly continued. "Don't get me wrong – this is so much better. It's wonderful! Our own private island."

Seeing Alice happy like this made me feel the same way. Memories of some of the best times we'd spent together came rushing up to the front of my mind, throwing away the bad ones. Reaching the top of the hill, I saw that this side of the cabin was partially ringed-off with low wooden fencing, which also dealt with the short drop-offs into the lake on both sides of the island's centre. BIRD'S LEG CABIN was written on a small sign, staked into the ground where the fence split to let us move on.

The porch was almost as wide as the house, extending out in front of us from the cabin and leaving only a narrow strip of land between itself and the eastern drop-off. Stacks of chopped logs sat against the wall at either end, partially covered by white tarpaulins. A rusting metal wind chime dangled opposite them. Aside from these, the porch had just what you'd expect to find – a couple of old carpets across the floor, a bench leaning on the wall by one of the wood stacks, some chairs leaning against the wooden railing running along the other side. Your usual stuff. The front door stood between the bench and the second wood stack.

"Here we go," I told Alice. "Let's take a look inside."

Taking the key from my pocket, I held the little round handle in my left hand and stuck the key into the lock – built into the handle – with my right. At first it wouldn't fully fit itself into the lock, but after a moment of wresting it back and forth I managed to get it in place and turned it, and heard the satisfying click as it unlocked. Slipping the key back into my pocket, I pushed the door open.

Save for the light easing in through a few windows, the interior was shrouded in darkness. Almost without thinking I dug a hand into my pocket and emerged with the flashlight Alice had given me earlier. Thumbing the switch, a steady beam of light materialised from the device – already proving its worth – and dispelled some of the darkness, casting its own faint circle on the floor, where more carpets covered much of the wooden flooring. Moving the flashlight this way and that, I looked around.

Nothing unusual leapt out at me. A few cabinets of varying sizes and shapes rested against the walls. A faded blue couch and an old grandfather clock sat further down the left wall, while the right was dominated by a large stone fireplace, complete with another stack of chopped logs beside it for feeding the flames. Alice promptly spoke up from behind me, and I swivelled to face her.

"It's dark in there!" she told me, the fear in her voice unmistakable. "We need lights. Can you figure out how to get the power on, honey?"

"Sure thing," I told her, quickly and calmly. I was eager to make sure Alice wouldn't have to suffer the fear her phobia caused her. "I'm on it."

Turning back, I moved further into the cabin, the light from my flashlight gently probing my surroundings. Just after the grandfather clock, the house turned to the left at a right angle, parallel to the island's edge. Through a glass-panelled door that lay ajar in front of me, I could see another porch outside, looking over the lake. As my beam of light swivelled to the right again, I caught site of something sitting on top of another cabinet, and moved to take a closer look. It was an old shoebox, worn and dusty. The space between the box and the wall was neatly lined with books, but the shoebox only held books written by a Thomas Zane. I had never heard of him before. I almost picked one up to leaf through a few pages – see if he was any good – before I remembered Alice waiting anxiously on the porch. I turned back to continue my search.

I poked my head out through the door onto the back porch. From what I could tell, it was built right on the cliff edge. A staircase on the right led down to a small pier, extending outwards then left into the water. I took a moment to admire the view – straight across the lake, in the west, the sun was slowly sinking behind a gap between two of the mountains, casting smooth golden light in the horizon and onto Cauldron Lake – before heading back inside. Leaving behind the noise of the lake's waters gently lapping against the shore, and the occasional caw of a crow somewhere far away, I suddenly noticed how deathly quiet it was indoors.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself. Of course there was no-one here – from the look of it, if anyone had been here in the past few years, it had been to clear out the cobwebs. So why had I called out? Despite her trepidation, I saw Alice frown at me good-naturedly from outside. I smiled back at her, shrugging it off, and moved on.

The rest of the first floor was just as average as what I'd already seen. A large wooden dining table sat by a window looking out onto the back porch, giving anyone eating at it a perfect view of the lake, while a cooker and the various wall and floor cabinets of the kitchen rested against the back wall in a C shape. Despite a quick search though, I still couldn't find anything that looked like it might give Alice and I light.

Opposite the western wall, behind the dining table, a flight of stairs curved back on itself, giving access to the second floor. Taking in the well-maintained barometer hanging on the wall nearby, and after trying what looked like a cupboard door – locked – I headed upstairs. My heart jumped for a moment as the flashlight's beam brushed over something strange-looking on the wall of the landing, but I settled when I saw that it was only the large head of a deer, staring expressionlessly at the far wall from its wooden mount. Couldn't help feeling sorry for the deer, though. Two doors stood closed here, one on either side of the deer head, and I picked the right-hand one first.

This was obviously the main bedroom. A large wooden bed adorned with a grid-like red-white-brown patterning on the quilt stood against the far wall. An ugly lime green chair and matching ottoman sat nearby, while windows looked out over the eastern and western sides of the lake. From what I'd seen so far, the cabin looked like a time capsule from the sixties, or even earlier. No power source in here either though.

Crossing over into the other room, I was immediately struck by the sight of a huge stuffed Horned Owl, mid-cry, wings outstretched, perched on a tree branch fixed to the far wall, between the two porthole-like windows I had noticed from outside. For a moment the oppressive feel of the nightmare I had seen on the ferry returned. A sudden burst of pain in my temple made me double over, pressing my free hand to my head as vague, distorted images of the dream came flooding back to me.

Then as quickly as they had come, the pain and the memories had gone. As I straightened up, wondering what had just happened, I gave the room a quick scan as I had the others. A good-looking desk sat below the owl, complemented by a small balanced-arm lamp in the corner. Another grandfather clock stood nearby, on the left, and the room shared the same window layout as the bedroom. But still no sign of a power source! Turning to inspect the other wall revealed two large bookshelves, one on either side of the door. Thinking that they were both empty in the poor light, I was surprised to catch a glimpse of a framed picture standing on one of the shelves of the bookcase on my left. Moving closer and focusing the light on it, I saw that it held a black and white photo of someone about to dive into the lake from what looked to be the pier outside. The picture was obviously taken long ago – it was dull and grainy, and the person in it didn't wear modern diving clothes, but the old bronze diver's helmet, spherical and with four portholes – three around the face and a fourth above the head - as well as a bulky, bulbous metal suit, different from the plain rubber one most divers wore at the time. But this wasn't getting me any closer to finding out where the cabin got its power from. It wasn't in the cabin, that was for sure - there had to be a fuse box or generator somewhere on the island.

Leaving the intricacies of the cabin's history behind me for the time being, I headed back downstairs to tell Alice of the situation. Still shining strong, the sunlight permeating the first floor made me slow down for a second so that my eyes could readjust after the darkness of the floor above. Alice was looking down towards the far end of the island, but as I emerged back onto the porch, flicking the flashlight off as I did so, I caught sight of a thick black cable – undoubtedly the power cable – extending in the same direction from the porch roof. I turned to tell Alice of my discovery, but she beat me to it.

"The power cable goes to that shed over there," she told me, holding the bag in two hands again and gesturing down the island with her head. Slightly annoyed for having spent time carefully searching the cabin for something Alice had probably found in a couple of seconds, I looked for myself. The wire swung down to latch onto a telegraph pole, leaning at an angle amongst some more trees – these ones fully green – further down from the cabin, before descending into an old wooden shed, near the island's 'toes'.

I made my way down the grassy slope towards the shed. More trees stood guard along the island's western side, the sunlight slipping delicately between their branches. More crows flew away from where they perched as I passed them. Fortunately, the door to the shed was unlocked, and I moved inside. An old generator had been connected to the power cable, its hulking metal body taking up much of the shed – empty save for a few oil drums by my side. I stepped forward to inspect it.

A circular pressure gauge protruded from the generator, its spindly black needle resting at zero. Two lights, one red and one green, were fixed on beside it, the green one flashing periodically. Having never been much of a mechanic, I looked around for some way to start the machine and noticed a retracted jumper cord under the generator, its black plastic handle giving it away. Could it really be that simple? I decided to find out. Resting one hand on the generator body, I gave the cord a swift pull. Gears inside the machine made a loud grating noise, as if it was about to spring into life, and then subsided. I pulled again. This time, there was a much harsher grating noise, obviously not good. Wondering how to continue, I suddenly noticed a notched gear continuing to rotate inside the machine, and realised I had to pull the cord when the notch reached the top of the gear's cycle, in line with the others. Timing it carefully, I pulled the cord just as the notch reached the top. The first sound I had heard repeated itself, and within the generator more gears began to move, with this first one increasing in speed. Timing it again I pulled the cord as the notched gear was in place a third time, and the generator roared into life – the needle in the pressure gauge shot to the far end, all of the gears inside the machine began moving together, and _fast_, and the generator itself vibrated immensely. Feeling that same absurd pride I had felt when I'd retrieved the cabin key from the diner in town, I headed back outside to tell Alice of my success. Having heard the noise for herself, Alice was looking into the now-illuminated house excitedly, but saw me coming.

"The lights are on!" She called down to me, grinning. "Great work, honey! I'll freshen up a bit and start settling in!"

"Okay!" I called back to her. More time for me to admire the scenery, I thought. "I'll look around a bit!" I shouted after Alice, as she disappeared inside.

"Sure thing!" she called back, her voice fading as she moved deeper into the cabin. "Have fun!"

XXXXXXXX

I was outside for a good half an hour. While Alice showered in the cabin, I watched as the sun sank lower and lower over the horizon through the gap in the mountains to the west. While the sun disappeared, holding court on its own side of the lake, the colour drained just as quickly from Bright Falls County. Stars slowly began to appear above me as the sky grew steadily darker, until the sun disappeared altogether. But it left some of its light behind, its final rays giving the western waters of Cauldron Lake the same golden sheen I had noticed earlier and blasting out into the western sky, which was steadily changing from yellow to orange and finally relenting to the black of the night. Maybe because of this, the lake took on a decidedly black tone itself, until its colour could have fooled a passing tourist into thinking that they'd stumbled across the world's largest tar pit. To top off this eerie effect, a thin sheet of mist had risen over the lake's surface, given the entire scene a strange, otherworldly feel. But I wasn't complaining – it was a beautiful place. The entire setting of this idyllic and seemingly untouched getaway was unusual – and not in a bad way. I told myself I could rest here - _sleep _here – and forget about my work. So many horrible memories stood ready and waiting to jump out at me as well – so many sleepless nights, desperately trying to write something, _anything_, on the old typewriter I used; so many times when my relationship with Alice had suffered as a result. At some point I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and saw Alice watching me from a first floor window. She smiled and blew me a kiss, and I grinned back broadly before she moved away. I thought we could be happy here.

With the sunlight almost fully gone from the night sky, I decided it was time to head back inside, and took one last look at the large building, perched high up on the cliffs far off at the northern end of the lake, as I did so. The ranger's comment back in the diner had gone unnoticed by me at the time, but as I'd watched the sunset, I'd remembered that Alice had told me about Cauldron Lake Lodge. The old building used to be a hotel, but these days it was no longer open to the public. Even so, someone was there now – little pinpricks of artificial light shone through the building's little windows as well as its main one – a huge series of glass panels forming the back wall of what had presumably been the main lobby. Plus, Rusty had mentioned something about a Doctor Hartman working out of it...or something like that. It looked like Alice's information had been off.

As I headed back up the path towards the cabin, I saw something carved into the side of a tree stump midway between the shed and the porch. Bending down for a closer look, I saw that TZ + BJ had been scratched into the wood inside a love-heart shape. I thought of Alice and myself – how we met, our marriage, how she had stuck by me through the best and the worst, and my hopes that this vacation could mend the damage I'd caused. Obviously, the island had once been the site for a love story. Maybe it would be that again.

I crossed the porch, now lit by a bulbous wall-mounted light by the door, and moved inside. Wall-mounted lamps lit the interior of the cabin now – but there was no sign of Alice.

"Alice?" I called out. "Honey?"

"Alan! I'm upstairs," came the reply from – you guessed it – upstairs, sounding muffled as it travelled through the house. "I have a surprise for you!"

I raised my eyebrows, and found myself smiling again. This was something I'd have to get used to. I made my way upstairs, the way lit by more wall lamps, thoughts rushing through my mind as to what Alice had in store for me. Seeing that the bedroom door lay open, I moved into the doorway – and stopped.

Alice sat on the side of the bed, reading a newspaper that lay on the quilt. Her hair was tied back. She must've just got out of the shower – all she had on was a white tank top and black panties.

"Well!" I said, unable to stop myself from grinning again. "Hello there!" Alice looked up and smiled back at me, clearly aware of what I was thinking.

"I'm not the surprise," she told me. "It's in the study. Go take a look!"

"Okay..." I told her, wondering what else she could have done and lamenting that my surprise wasn't her. With one last long look at my wife, I turned and headed across the hall to the study, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

I stopped dead.

My blood froze in my veins. My body suddenly felt chilled to the bone. A typewriter – the very same typewriter on which I had written so many bestsellers - sat on the desk in front of me, a stack of blank paper beside it, ready for use. I hadn't seen the machine since my last attempt to write anything had ended in miserable failure, and I'd vowed not to use it again for a long, long time.

This wasn't that time.

"Surprise!" Alice said from behind me, having moved from the bedroom silently as I stood rooted in front of the source of all my frustrations of the past two years. Suddenly the cold I felt was replaced by anger – a white hot rage burning deep within the recesses of my mind. Just like old times.

"Alice," I said calmly, struggling to keep my voice steady as I bent over the desk, hands pressed against its edges. "What is this?"

"I guess I have a small confession to make," Alice said from behind me , moving towards me. Somehow I could hear the smile in her voice. A smile? How could she not understand what was happening, what she'd done?!

"I thought maybe you could write here!" Alice continued, blissfully unaware of the grave mistake she'd made. "That a change of scenery would get you past-"

I exploded. "Dammit, Alice!" I yelled, turning on her as her eyes widened in shock. "You – everyone keeps-"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Alice shouted back. "Just hear me out. There's a local doctor, Dr. Hartman, I've read a book of his. He has a private clinic here. He specializes in helping artists. Maybe-"

"So now you want to get me _committed_?" I cried, cutting her off again. At the mention of Hartman, I'd remembered all of what the ranger from the diner had said – how the Anderson Brothers, two senile old men, had been in the care of this Hartman guy as well. That he helped artists sounded like an outright lie.

"No! It's not like that. It's not-"

For the third time, Alice was cut off again as the lights in the cabin abruptly went out, the only small light available suddenly that of the moon. Instantly she traded an expression of shock for one of growing terror and looked about desperately for me. This was one of the results of her phobia: without me maintaining contact or making my location known to her, regardless of whether or not I was right in front of her when the lights went out, the fear suffocated much of her capability for rational thought, and she was left helpless until I came to her rescue. Right now, I couldn't give a shit.

"Alan?" She cried, her voice trembling. "Alan?" Just as my headache had ended almost as suddenly as it had begun earlier, the lights suddenly flashed back on. But I was beyond caring now.

"Don't!" I shouted at her, "Just don't, okay?" I don't wanna hear it! God DAMN it, Alice!" With that, I pushed by her, storming down the stairs and out of the front door, slamming it shut behind me. I knew she wouldn't follow me in the dark. I needed some time alone to think things through.

Still powered by anger, I sped off down the hill of Diver's Isle and across the bridge, walking as fast as I could. My only aim was to put as much space between myself and Alice as possible. But it wasn't to be.

Still consumed with rage at what Alice had done, I wasn't paying attention to where I stepped as the toe of my left shoe caught on the bridge's wooden boards as I lifted my foot. I crashed to the ground, just managing to put out my hands in time to stop myself from falling flat on my face. Thoughts of anger evaporated from my mind as I lifted myself back up, one hand on the railing for support. I saw for the first time that it was now well and truly night – there was no sign of the sun, and the mist and darkness had precedence. Registering this, I pulled my flashlight back out of my pocket and flicked it on, its beam adding to the slight artificial light reaching me from the windows of the study. Somehow, I chuckled as I realised the comedy of the whole situation – furiously storming off and not even managing to cross the bridge. I moved to rest against the railing, hands outstretched, looking out over the eastern part of the lake towards the sheer cliffs of the mountain in the same direction. The smile struggled to stay on my face. Great start, Alan, I thought – not even fully unpacked and already you're screaming at your wife for trying to help you. Good job. How could I be doing this again? After everything I'd said to myself about making a fresh start here. I was an idiot for thinking that I could just change when I wanted to, that arriving in Bright Falls would somehow cure me, make me a better person. Still, what was Alice thinking, pulling my old typewriter out of the blue and arranging for me to get 'treated' by some two-bit care home owner? It didn't matter – she was obviously doing what she thought was best. There was no justification for turning on her in the way that I had, after all we'd been through together. How could I have been so stupid? One thing was for sure – I was going to march back into that cabin and make it right.

But it wasn't time for that, either.

All the lights in the cabin went out again.

As the lights on my left disappeared, I thought I heard a muffled cry from the house – "Alan!"

"Alice?" I said to no-one in particular, frowning. As I turned to the cabin, another cry came from it.

"Alan? No! NOOOO!"

This last was a blood-curdling scream – definitely from Alice. Instantly I was terrified – what the hell was happening?

"Alice!" I yelled back at the cabin. Before I could think I was sprinting back towards the cabin, my flashlight's beam swinging madly across Diver's Isle.

"Alan! Where are you?" Came the cries from the cabin.

"Alice! It's allright, I'm coming!" I yelled back. A rustling of wings caught my attention, and I looked up.

Grouped together like swallows, a huge group of crows shot down out of the sky towards me, finally cawing like crazy, their voices combining to form a collective grating roar. Bewildered and horrified, I dived to the ground, landing hard, and threw my arms around my head. The crows gave off another collective cry, this time in pain, as if the light from my flashlight had somehow hurt them. The birds shot by me, barely missing me – I could feel the gust of wind as they swooped through the air above me – and climbed back into the sky. Desperate to escape another pass, I quickly picked myself up and rushed onwards towards the cabin.

"Alan! No! HELP ME!" Alice screamed again from within, and my heart beat with dread to think what was happening to her. Bounding up the steps onto the porch and reaching the front door, the skies filled with the sound of a thousand crows cawing madly, I threw it open. As I did so, Alice let out another scream, somewhere nearby. But worse still, this one faded away almost instantly – as if she'd fallen.

"Alice? Alice?" I cried, my voice on the edge of uncontrolled panic as I made my way further into the living room, casting the flashlight back and forth in the darkness. Then I froze.

Outside, through the open door to the back porch, the railing was broken.

My heart in my mouth, shaking ever so slightly, I hurried outside. The sound of the crows had been replaced by a deafening silence. Dreading what was to come with all my being, I moved over to the broken railing and cast the light of the flashlight downwards, into the water.

Through the swirling darkness, I could just make out Alice, motionless, sinking into the deep.

"Oh no!" I whispered, voice cracked, body fully shaking in horror.

Without a second thought, I took a deep breath and dived in after her.


End file.
